Unbridled
by Netherworld
Summary: My take at the Eragon universe; a one-shot illustrating a pairing I've always found enticing. A veiled, tantalizing glimpse of a relationship between two powerful women of Alagaësia that have found comfort and safety in the most curious of embraces. Femslash, don't like, don't read. It's my first story, so please be gentle. All comments and critique, however, are appreciated.


Her chocolate eyes were fixated on a point far, far away in the distance, one only she could see. It was unbelievably late, but she really had no way of telling the exact minute; not that it mattered, in truth. All that mattered to the woman at the moment, in fact, was the impending and inevitable departure of her lover. Again.

She squeezed her eyes to staunch the flow of tears and reached to her face with her elegant fingers, wiping away the few stray drops that had managed to slip by. "Why?" she whispered hoarsely into the crisp nightly air to nobody in particular, knowing full well that she would get no answer whatsoever. With the sadness still gripping at her heart, the royal woman turned away from the single window illuminating her chambers and stalked towards the bed. The bed. Her lips momentarily curled into a weak smile as the countless memories overflowed her mind, causing her to shiver as she remembered the innumerable touches and whispered words. The pain in her chest had subsided by now and the last vestiges that had lingered were pushed away as the woman promptly sat on the comfortable cushions, sighing with pleasure. She allowed her body to tumble back into the embrace of the rich, silken sheets, her long, dark hair splayed around her like a halo. Her eyes drifted closed and she found herself dozing off after the long, tedious day of leadership; the mattress underneath her grew more inviting by the minute and the dark-skinned woman had a hard time of keeping her eyelids from drooping. /She'll come,/ she thought, and it was that which ultimately stopped her from falling asleep. That, and the subtle squealing of the doors as they slid open.

With a start, her eyes flew open, but she didn't move. _Perhaps if I remain still…_ the noble leader mused as she shut her eyes, willing her breathing back to normal. Oh, she knew what the other was doing._ Really, that woman and her endless games… _Before the dark-skinned beauty could finish her line of thought, however, a ghost of a touch against her temple interrupted her. Despite herself, breath hitched in her throat and if it were possible to hear smug smirks, she would've been the first witness.

"Not again, darling?" the teasing voice came and the dark woman barely suppressed an involuntary shudder. Just hearing her drawl those words across her tongue intoxicated her. With a determination worthy of her heritage, Nasuada refrained from reacting, let alone speaking.

"Very well," the other woman spoke again and moved her warmth away from the royalty - **her** royalty – splayed on the bed before her. With sauntering gait, she stalked away, situating herself on the luxurious sofa in the far end of the room. There was almost lewd a grin on her lovely face as she threw her long, sleek legs across the armrests, stretching herself like a spoiled cat. In the end, it always boiled down to patience and devotion; and in the end, it was *her* who always won.

So they both waited, one schooling her features with a lady's decisiveness, the other already celebrating her unavoidable victory.

"Oh, honey," she called out in a sing-song voice, sliding off the ottoman with the elegance of a summer breeze. With the same ease she walked back to the dark-skinned woman, having grown tired with their nightly game after all. She stopped when she was mere inches from the other's skin and could feel the bodily heat emanating from the sleek form beneath her. It was all she could do to keep her greedy hands to herself.

The virtuous woman lying on the cushions had other ideas, however. With speed one wouldn't have expected from the noble, she sprang up, pouncing the elf with uncanny skill. Years of experience, of course, had nothing to do with her success. With the svelte form of her lover now pinned underneath her, Nasuada allowed a sly smile to finally stretch her lips. "I've been wanting to do this for **ages**," she smirked, leaning in closer, but still not near enough for the other woman to be able to reach her.

"Oh, please," the elf scoffed, squirming beneath her dark lover half-heartedly, barely putting up a fight. She'd be blatantly lying if she said she didn't like it exactly as it was. "You and I both know you're topping only because I'm** letting** you," she winked at the royal woman, but Nasuada just puffed in indignation and dismissed her bragging with a wave of her hand. "Don't say things you might have to back up, darling," she grinned at her sleek captive and finally gave into the temptation.

Her dark hair brushed the gentle features of Arya's face first, a fleeting, pleasant touch that the elf was much accustomed to. Then came the warm breath of her lover against her skin, a sensation that would always set her body ablaze; this night was no exception to that rule, and the princess mewled softly when the hot air laden with her lover's scent caressed her sensitized flesh. And then, and only then, came her pliant, moist lips, inviting and plump just like ripe cherries; practically **begging** to be crushed. So that's what the elf did.

With Nasuada undivided attention now on her own lips, freeing herself was a piece of cake. Her suddenly liberated fingers immediately found their way into the dark, muskat-scented hair of her elegant lover as she pulled the woman closer to her body, claiming her mouth as her own. Suddenly, there was no more gentleness, no soft touches; they were replaced by a heated urge, a feeling of necessity that no woman could resist anymore. Nasuada's usually calm, composed demeanor crumbled away to reveal a set of ebony eyes aflame with passion and want, while the typically stoic and unreadable Arya gasped for air in between choice words thoroughly unbecoming of her heritage, her own blazing eyes meeting her lover's. With a single gaze that could melt even the stony heart of Galbatorix, the two famed, burdened leaders let their troubles fall away at least for a few blissful hours of unadulterated, unbridled love they shared. A love untainted by war and politics, unmarred by the countless horrors they'd both seen and done in their demanding lives.

For a few precious, ephemeral moments, they were free.


End file.
